The Measured Tread
by TheHippoman
Summary: The past Luxanna Crownguard has been trying to forget forces itself to the forefront. One Shot/Flash Fiction


**AN: Just a quick story since this part of Lux's lore might be going away with the rework. Darker than the usual stuff.**

Sunbeams bounced off of polished ivory statues, casting shades of brilliant light across the skies of Demacia's central square. The weather was perfect, odd for a Demacian autumn, but it was lucky. Luxanna Crownguard hadn't had a break from her tactician duties in weeks. She'd spent long nights drafting plans for new troop formations, and holding the finished product was causing a pure rush of joy to her brain. The magician sat on a bench and stretched her limbs, sighing contentedly. Honestly, she felt like she could live on that bench, in that park, in that moment. Everything felt at peace, for once.

The sound of a distant trumpet mixed itself with the chatter of townsfolk and chirping of birds. There was a change in the guard shifts at the palace. She had grown to know that sound well, growing up so close to the seat of Demacian power. Crownguard was both a name and a title, really. Something that was considered a gift, but felt sometimes more like a curse.

No. Not now. She mentally shoved the creeping despair from her consciousness. She wouldn't let that ruin a perfect day.

There was a rustling of clothes as several of the townsfolk around her moved their arms to salute towards the northern entrance to the square. Out of the corner of her eye, Lux could see two fully armored guards emerging, clad in polished golden breastplates and helmets inlaid with sapphires. It wasn't standard military gear, as it was rather wildly impractical, but their job was mostly ceremonial. It wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence that someone tried to attack the Demacian palace. Still, they moved in perfect synchronization, their boots clashing with the cobblestone street like drumbeats until they reached the square itself. They proceeded to turn to one another, salute, and then went their separate ways.

That was one thing she could always appreciate about Demacian training. It preserved order. She had seen much of Runeterra, and that was one thing most of the continent seemed dreadfully lacking in. Their shift complete, however, the guards were now milling about the crowd. Some of the poorer citizens continued to salute them as they passed, but most of the ceremony had gone. They were certainly no longer moving in tandem, for example, one of them was now speaking with a pair of nobles, while the other was moving in Lux's direction. She took a drink from the flask she'd brought along, not paying the soldier much mind. No need to bother them, after all. It was a little surprising, then, when the guard sat next to her on the bench, giving a cordial nod. Lux smiled back and slid over a bit to accommodate the new guest.

Reflected sunlight bounced off polished metal as the guard removed her helmet. The woman's hair was matted with sweat, and her eyes squinted as she got used to light without a visor. She turned to Luxanna and quickly spoke.

"Thank you, citizen."

"No problem." Lux turned to return the smile, but as her eyes fell over the guard's face, time seemed to stop. She knew those eyes, that voice, that hair. Most of all, she knew the scar that snaked across the woman's left cheek.

No. No, no, it couldn't be. It could never happen this way. The last thing she needed was a reminder.

* * *

"Crownguard! What are you doing?"

A much younger Luxanna Crownguard felt a pair of eyes like daggers burrowing into her skin. A broad shouldered man was approaching, his gaze burning with indignant rage. She looked down at the sword in her grip and felt a curse barely choke itself back down her throat. She was holding it wrong. A pair of massive, gloved hands smashed against her own as the instructor painfully wrenched them into the proper position.

"Start listening, or you'll get yourself killed! No Noxian is going to correct you before they gut you!"

She frantically nodded, and the instructor continued along the row. She didn't have to hold back the tears anymore, they just didn't seem to come. For the first few nights at the Demacian Training Camp, she did little more than cry. She had been forcibly wrenched from her home, her life, and everything she'd ever known. Simply because her last name was "Crownguard". She could still see her parents smiling through her tears as the soldiers dragged her from her home's front room, her limbs flailing trying to hold onto whatever she could, screaming in a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

But, such was the duty of a Crownguard. She doubted Garen had cried.

It was after her first week of training that she had received a visit from the Correctors. There were rumors amongst the recruits of masked tormentors, phantoms who came in the night to punish rulebreakers. They were said to be the ghosts of Demacian warriors past. Of course, that was ridiculous. Luxanna often told her sparring partners and fellow trainees that. Ghosts had never been seen in Demacia, though undead were not uncommon in other areas. "I'm sure it's just meant to scare us.", she had told a fencing opponent, "It's like being afraid of a monster under your bed. Don't let them outsmart you."

That night, the door to her chambers was unlocked from the outside. She had no chance to grab a weapon before a cloaked figure burst in, a mask of cloth covering the phantom's face. The hand that slammed against her throat was certainly corporeal, pinning her to the top of her desk. She could feel the weight of a powerful kneecap slam into her stomach, the pain wracking her body as she hacked and sputtered. Gasping for breath, she watched the masked figure lean over her, whispering in a familiar voice.

"Are you afraid of us now, Crownguard?"

Another knee to the gut. Lux choked out the closest approximation to "Yes" that she could. There was a tense silence as she stared with bleary vision at the mask. Another burst of pain wracked her body as the knee smashed into her stomach again. As the figure leaned closer, Lux could barely make out a feminine face, a familiar one. Her fencing partner.

"Obey, Luxanna. Demacia relies on it."

The Corrector pulled back and rushed out of the room. From that day on, Lux had been a model recruit, as had anyone who saw the bruising on her throat.

* * *

That familiar pain was surfacing again as her eyes were locked on the guard. She had repressed that memory for a long time. Emotions flooded against her, but Lux steeled herself, keeping the false smile she was so adept at using plastered on her face. Partially because the guard was still watching, and partially because she knew what was coming next. That scar her benchmate had was a gift from the Correctors as well. She knew that firsthand.

After all, she was the one who had inflicted it.


End file.
